


And Leather Wings

by matan4il



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: As much fluff as you can find in the batfandom without going OOC, Comics related, Dom/sub Undertones, Forever Evil storyline, Leather Kink, Light Dom/sub, M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 10:55:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5414222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matan4il/pseuds/matan4il
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick has always loved to soar through the air. As a kid, back in his circus days, he thought it was that blink of an eye when the hands holding him let go that enabled him to do so. Time and life, however, have shown him how vital the tight grip an instant earlier is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Leather Wings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [st00pz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/st00pz/gifts).



> This is really just pure BruceDick smut. Triggered by this image from the Forever Evil storyline:
>
>> **Dedication:** To the ever generous and talented [st00pz](http://st00pz.tumblr.com/), who has requested a _Late night encounter. Dick riding Bruce on the rooftop/Bruce's office/whenever. Idk, can be Batman/Nightwing or Batman/Officer Grayson or Bruce Wayne/Nightwing (no angst, please!)_ as part of the [2015 Batfamily exchange](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Batfamily_Christmas_Exchange_2015). I hope you enjoy this even half as much as I enjoy your creations!  
>    
>  **Rating:** I hate all the different rating systems. It's gonna get filthy, okay? Use whichever letters and numbers you prefer to signify that.  
>    
>  **Warnings:** A bit of a size difference kink. Some leather kink. Maybe, sort of implying (if you tilt your head, squint and choose to see it that way) dom/sub dynamics. Because Dick is a wild boy, you know...  
>    
>  **Author's notes:** I've tried to keep the comics references as general as I could while the fic sprang from those roots, so that readers would neither be too spoiled by them, nor at a loss if they hadn't yet read the relevant issues. I ask for your sincere forgiveness if I've failed. Unbeta'd so I can make the art exchange's deadline, meaning all mistakes are mine with my hope for your understanding.

It's not like they're not used to walking around each other in the Batcave in various degrees of nudity, with and without their crime fighting outfits. It happens so often that it's all practically the same to them. Yet because it rarely occurs in a public setting of any sort, that Batman is in full gear while Dick's skin is so bare, that that particular moment stood out. For a split second, Dick was certain he was gone. He could feel his heart slowing down to a halt and, mouth covered by his would-be killer, he said his goodbyes and accepted his fate. Later, he was filled in on all the details, on how the moment when everything went dark for him was precisely when Bruce became convinced of the same frightening outcome. But while it was playing out, all he knew was that he was brought back to find himself looking deep into the Batman's eyes, so readable to him even behind the mask, feeling as if it was their power over him that pulled him back from the abyss.  
  
And then they suddenly came into contact, leather on skin, Dick sliding into an enveloping, loving, relieved and yet still terrified embrace. He knew his instinctual reaction to this touch was invisible on the outside, but there was something at the very core of him, something hot, shaky and breathless, that melted at it, that wanted to shut out the world and only concentrate on this, on their connection, on everything it stirred inside him, on letting go and succumbing to this deep and demanding bond between them.  
  
Dick later found out that during those blacked out moments, Batman has possibly saved his life by exploding with a rage so wild, so desperate and dark that even if initially Lex Luthor had had no intentions of bringing Dick back, he then realized that there was no other choice. They hugged for a long moment after Luthor made good on his promise to resuscitate Dick and if anyone could guess what really passes between them from that, well, neither of them could bring themselves to care.  
  
It was all so overwhelming that _it_ didn't actually hit Dick at that moment, but rather a short while later, when they were supposedly once again their cool and collected selves. Sure, it was quite the ordeal they had went through, which meant all Batman was doing was to simply support a brother in arms still somewhat shaken as they were making their way to the sub-level of the Watchtower they were in. After all, the battle wasn't over yet. And Dick was re-gaining his self-control, he really was, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to fight as he did once he was called to. But somewhere in between all those moments of continuing on and fighting for humanity's sake, as well as for their friends, there was a sudden, casual brush. Seemingly random and accidental. Yet Dick knew better, knew Bruce and his movements so intimately that he could tell exactly how much thirst was still there, for contact, for reassurance. In that split second of a touch, Dick could feel it all, could sense how much bigger his lover's hands are, how encompassing, how he can easily draw Dick into his embrace and engulf him completely in his arms, making the world seem like a safe place again... How cool, slick and smooth the leather is against his heated, burning, exposed skin. How there's so much strength conveyed there, so much promise to force order and to subdue, yet how when it's the two of them, it's tender still... Dick could feel exactly how much he means to Bruce, how treasured he is. So he wanted, no, he craved with all of his being, with an intensity that probably should have terrified him, to let go of all pretense, drop to the cold floor and let Batman have his way with him until whatever need was triggered by the threat to Dick's life would be calmed down and sated.  
  
He didn't. Of course he didn't, that part at the core of him that could do nothing but respond to Bruce was kept at bay long enough to resolve the crisis and get them safely away. He was rational to a fault, as he was trained to be. And where did that land him? A hospital. Batman insisted on it, infuriatingly responsible for the lives of his partners in crime-fighting and insistent that now, since the world knew Dick's identity, there was no reason to settle for Alfred's improvised medical skills. When all they both wanted was just to be near each other. When there was a mission coming, meaning they'd have to part ways again soon.  
  
Even as Dick relented on the treatment front, that moment of touch stayed with him, along with a desire that the memory succeeded in flaming, in the pit of his stomach, whenever it sprang into his mind. That's why as reckless an idea as this is, he was determined to carry it out tonight. That's why he's here, shivering slightly on a calm Gotham night, waiting on the hospital rooftop. He knows Batman is going to show up here during this patrol. Dick would berate himself for his temporary insanity, only he knows what's motivating him isn't all that temporary. And when Bruce finally does appear, taking in the naked skin before him, it doesn't feel too insane either.  
  
Not only is Dick not in his hospital gown, he's not wearing anything at all. If he's shivering, it's not because of the temperatures. He's spent half his life, if not more, on Gotham's rooftops at the wee small hours of its nights, in costumes that were not always so insulating. He's grown used to it and on this night, waiting in the partial shelter offered by another Gotham gargoyle, the air feels pleasantly cool to him, not cold. If he's shivering now, it's because this coolness is contrasting with the heat he's radiating for the audacity of his deeds and intentions, for how right it feels. If he's shivering under his lover's eyes, it's anticipation.  
  
It's lightning fast, how quickly Dick finds leather wings wrapped around him. Underneath the cape, their bodies are pressed tightly against each other. Strong, glove clad hands find his head, tilt it upwards. He opens up for the kiss and feels it reach deep inside him, devouring his mouth as surely as his soul. He wants Bruce so much he thinks something might break. Quite likely, him. He reaches up and holds on to the broad shoulders that span the width and breadth of his world, surrenders to the urgency suddenly so palpable between them.  
  
Bruce backs him up against the gargoyle, inadvertently using it as a make shift bed. It's not, the stone beast's back is at an angle only half right for their objectives and there are protrusions along the surface that will probably hurt like hell the next day. Dick doesn't care, it's fine for this instance, because he can't feel anything behind him anyway, only Bruce before him, on him, all around him, hands on his sides digging in, mouth moving down to suck at the side of his neck, eliciting uncontrollable moans, legs trapping him between them, pushing into him, as if enough pressure will finally make them one.  
  
Dick can't remember giving his legs the order to ride up and grab back at Bruce around his pelvis, pulling this man, _his_ man, even nearer. He can't recall either when exactly he started clawing into back muscles, emitting sounds of desperate need, but then he can't think at all, just feel. He feels so acutely, the hand that pins his arms above his head, the grazing of his nipples, the tongue that next licks at and plays with them, the palm that grabs and explores his body so forcefully it's sure to leave marks. He feels it so devastatingly that it's all too much, that it's still not enough and he gyrates into the man he loves so profoundly, his arms still immobile, wordlessly imploring. Leathered fingers at Dick's waist hold him down. A moment of stillness, everywhere at once, and silence. Then Bruce moves again, grinds their crotches together, kevlar against skin, and it's so rough and raw and purposeful that it tears a cry out of Dick. He doesn't move, though. Not even when his arms are let go of, not the barest of motions. Suddenly, he's under assault again, on every front with every means and this time his scream melts and pours out of him as a quiet sob, as two or three tears that escape him and roll down his cheeks before he can stop them. His eyelids are shut firmly, he's not sure when he closed them, but he can still feel Bruce's gaze on him, seeing every particle of him, cherishing each one. He forces his eyes to open and even though it doesn't appear plausible, he swears he can see starlight reflected in the man before him.  
  
Bruce still leans into him, using weight to hold him up against the gargoyle, when the sound of a zipper intensifies Dick's heart-rate. His arms are still above his head, seemingly incapacitated, as he's presented with two fingers hovering right at the edge of his mouth. He opens up to take them in, sucks on them intently, feels the odd taste of leather on his tongue. Bruce is watching him, controlled as ever, and Dick abruptly grabs the hand in front of him with both of his, beginning to move his head up and down along the two intruding digits with intense devotion. His concentration is somewhat broken when he notices one corner of Bruce's mouth almost imperceptibly unlocking.  
  
In a blaze of motion, the fingers Dick is lewdly suckling are pulled back and replaced by fervent lips, by an all consuming tongue burrowing into him. He grasps at the back of Bruce's head, practically gluing them together as he kisses back hungrily and feels the missing digits hovering promisingly at his entrance while another hand secures him up against the stone. There's not a lot of preparation involved. That's probably unintended, but they're both starving for this, one pushing and the other pulling, both in perfect sync as they have always been, that it's only a brief beat before Bruce's erection delves right in.  
  
There's a groan of relief, of fulfillment. It's so guttural, it sounds almost as if it's being torn out of Bruce's throat. No one suspects Batman can be unraveled this way, could lose himself so completely. It's a beautiful sight to behold and Dick drinks it up. Nearly laughs in stupid, happy contentment. He holds on to this beloved body as it starts moving out and in again, as with each return it constantly pushes further in. He memorizes it by sense of touch, uses his leg musculature to draw it even closer to him. This is yet another position between them in which Bruce frames the entire world, looming so much larger than anything else in existence. Dick slants his head to the side, allowing him to lick a trail along one robust forearm, then bites into the juncture between neck and shoulder. He gets his wish when Bruce jerks into him and proceeds more forcefully, more devoutly, like someone trying to change reality through the power of repeated prayer.  
  
Nothing's better than this, than Dick sensing Bruce everywhere around him, inside him, impaling him with the brutal honesty of thrusts and kisses that mingle together, of a thirst that only grows sharper, of a sense of belonging translated into determined hip movements that chase more and more keening noises out of him. If he could, he'd make this last forever. Since he can't, he gives in and writhes freely, moves every part of his body that isn't being crushed under the constant shift of weight above and inside him, allows himself to pant louder and louder. Like this positively could be the beginning and end of everything, he rides Bruce's dick as if his life depended on it. In a frighteningly real way, it feels like it does. They never exchange words of love. This speaks volumes instead.  
  
Within, Dick can feel his prostate being brushed against with each stroke. There's no part of him that isn't shaking uncontrollably, not even the sounds escaping his lips. Bruce leans in, bridging any distance possibly still left between them, his breath warm and hovering as he utters his first words that evening. “I want to feel you”. He pulls ever so slightly back and - his hand gently caressing a cheek, not dropping the other one to their nether-regions, nor slowing down his pace - looks at Dick in a manner that feels strangely complete. Never breaking eye contact, with a strangled, fractured noise that's probably some form of a plea, Dick comes with a ferocity that is practically painful. He can feel himself, pulse after pulse, spilling himself in the friction between their bodies and his muscles contracting around the intrusion that continues to repeatedly split him open. Soiling Batman's outfit, he thinks while his labored breathing starts to quiet down, admitting a tinge of smugness to himself. Another mark of what's shared with no one else.  
  
Bruce dives in and kisses hard, punishingly. His maneuvers in and out have been gradually losing their rhythm and finesse. He keeps up the kiss but it's increasingly shallow, like it's becoming harder and harder to breathe. It might just be Dick's imagination, but he could swear his fingers, roaming in appreciation, pick up on the sense of something damp just where the mask gives way to skin. It's not coherent thought that in response leads him to deliberately contract every muscle in his lower body, encouraging Bruce's orgasm. Dick knows exactly when it hits, hot liquid rush running through his insides, scorching him from within and making him feel fantastically debauched. Bruce's spurts are punctuated by a few frantic last lunges, before he plunges in a final time, shivers strenuously, letting one muffled note out, before he stills. Somehow managing to keep on holding both of them up, one body, leather and nakedness, beneath the Dark Knight's cape.  
  
Unmoving, gripping these fleeting moments as long as they can and leaning against each other in the sanctuary created between the night and the gargoyle, many memories rush past them in the dark. Dick has always loved to soar through the air. As a kid, back in his circus days, he thought it was that blink of an eye when the hands holding him let go that enabled him to do so. Time and life, however, have shown him how vital the tight grip an instant earlier is. Bruce has taken and given him everything. And leather wings have taught him how to fly.


End file.
